"Sandmaw is not a wolf. Wolves don't exist in High-Earth. But there are relative species. Sandmaw is a dire-jackal. They don't bite as hard as wolves but they're faster and much easier to tame." Logan explained as they walked through the bordering forest to get back to Bronzehenge.
"Cool...." Murciel said as he scratched Sandmaw behind the ears while he rode. "Can he eat fire?"
Logan side eyed him, "No.... that seems to be something only you can do."
"I've never eaten fire." Murciel said casually.
"Oh right, you can only burp it. You don't look like a Fire speaker." Logan said.
"That's because I'm not." Murciel looked over at the young god as he hopped over a felled tree.
"You're something."
When they reached the grove, the students were waiting for them with wide eyes. Eyes that went even wider at the sight of Logan's bruises and Murciel riding his dire-jackal.
"Stop gawking! Everyone get your seeds and begin rebuilding the green." Professor Switch said, "Foul-seed, laps!"
Murciel hopped off of Sandmaw and patted his head, "Thank you for the lift, cousin-wolf. All previous bites are forgiven."
Sandmaw huffed and licked his face with a tongue that felt like sandpaper. Then was trotting after Logan to join the others in the grove. It was then that Murciel realized the hound had two tails.
***
Bronzehenge was structured-- every event was purposeful and came before or after the other for a very specific reason. Balance and benefit. Not to mention everything had a cycle.
The day started with Ambient-Mana Cultivation and Absorption Training. It fortified the body with the transformation of Ambient-Mana to Inner-Mana, leaving everyone primed for physical combat. They could run faster, jump higher and even heal faster when circulating the sacred nature essence.
Once sparring ended, they took their seats once more and began rebuilding any greenery they may have damaged in combat. Balance was a fundamental value to Druids. It was then that junior initiates could train the foundations of the Cultivation technique known as Chloromancy. It usually started with a single blade of grass, or shifting stone or blooming flower. It depended on the individuals affinity and focus.
Murciel didn't yet know his affinity. And his focus was shot. With the adrenaline of battle long gone and the exhaustion of running settling in, his mind roamed.
Echoes of voices and distant memories came in waves.
"Show them your beastial form if you want everyone to believe your strength...."
"What are you?"
"You're something...."
It all circled back to his mother. He had questions-- worries even, that he wanted to ask her. But, the thought never made it far without him cringing. It felt taboo. Like his transformation and the red waves were things he wasn't supposed to share with anyone.
But he had to. His mother would know. He shouldn't fear her. Only an hour ago, he defeated an adolescent god, following that up with a loss to the beast anxiety nested in his organs would only be a step backward in his ascent to higher power.
With the thought solidified he ran a bit faster.
And finished his laps even sooner than the last. This time, he didn't doubt himself.
Training ended soon after. His fight with the beast known as anxiety continued. They warred like enemy gods. It struck him true, leaving his hands shaken and clammy even under shade. He fought back by ignoring the effects-- by standing tall as he gathered his things which consisted of himself and made his way home.
The journey was far. He didn't live in the main city of Seersgrave like his classmates. Mrs Augustus and himself occupied a farm-home at the cities far edges in a patch of terrain called Cave-Valley. Where it was more dangerous. Where he could see The Black-Threshold just beyond his rooms window, miles upon miles away.
But he wasn't thinking about the wall of shadows on his journey. He was thinking about her.
He reached his farm home before sundown. It was a simple log cabin fortified by stone accents and defensive monoliths. A massive oak tree grew through it's center. From it's massive fanning branches, clothes hung out to dry. Below, a gate circled the house and held the barking hounds back from trampling him to follow the scent of Sandmaw all over him.
Among them, a dark furred blind bull grazed casually. He was bigger than most bulls. A crossbreed of bull and auroch. His fur was longer than Murciel remembered, leaving him shaggy and monstrous looking. Dents and cut marks signified where his usual battle armor sat over his massive shoulders and front legs. A green cloth wrapped his eyes with the triskelion sitting center most.
"TITUS!!!"
The bull lifted his head and mewed a warm greeting.
Murciel ran to the fence and flipped over it, landing in a roll before running up to Titus and wrapping his arms around the beasts huge neck. He interlocked his hands on the other side.
The last time they parted ways he couldn't do that.
"It's been long, uncle. You smell almost as bad as the Foul-Beasts I fought this morning. I say this with love. I bet you're way stronger than before."
Titus groaned excitedly and pulled away from Murciel.
"What is it?"
Titus stamped his hooves, as they brushed the low cut grass, fresh Ambient-Mana rose from the grounds. The verdant smoke spiraled and seeped into the beasts fur.
In seconds it spiraled and twisted into a giant dark furred beast from High-Earth.
If he remembered his studies correctly, they were called lions. Only they didn't have horns.
Titus threw his head back and roared. The grass flourished and flowers bloomed as the sky shook hard enough to dissipate the clouds overhead.
Murciel already had his hands over his over his ears and it still stunned him.
"HAHAHA!! That's incredible!" Murciel hopped around and cheered with Titus the horned dark-lion.
A whistle boomed from inside his farm-home. Titus snapped back to his original form, serious once again.
Murciel copied. More so losing to his anxieties as Titus swung his massive horns in the direction of the house, telling him where to go as if he didn't know.
He bumped heads with Titus once and left to enter home.
It was cool inside, as always. And it smelled of herbs and oils, thanks to the polished floors covered by ornamental rugs and leathers. It was built in a circle. All surrounding the massive oak tree. Sigils and jewels were stamped and stapled to the bark for protection and good luck. He was supposed to memorize them, but he wasn't the best with memorizing.
He walked the round halls, passing the many rooms and corridors to mount the stairs built into the walls and reach the top floor.
There they stood. Gathered around the round table near the top floor rooms window.
Mrs. Augustus stood without her cloak, in a dark lavender sweater and dress with the sleeves rolled up. She turned to face Murciel as he entered the space. For once, her long curled nose wasn't scrunched up in disappointment or discontent.
Beside her, his mother, Thena stood still, scenting the air at his entrance.
She ate up the space in the room. She was a large woman at seven feet tall and strapped with more muscle than most men and ape species he'd ever seen.
Veins bulged like ropes in her arms. The mace at her back looked like a toothpick against her. Her blindfold was dirtied by soot and blood. The lasting visual queues of war still hadn't left her. Wounds and scars interrupted her tattoos everywhere.
She looked…
"Awesome."
"Hello, Murciel. You've…. grown."